


Falling Star

by LadyRazorsharp



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/pseuds/LadyRazorsharp
Summary: Tag to a prompt fic by Akireyta. Penny tries to teach John the fine art of picking up a date at a pub. This backfires spectacularly, but Pen isn't one to waste an opportunity.





	Falling Star

They didn't get far; two streets up and Penny pulled John into the pitch darkness of a blind alley between two windowless buildings and grabbed him by lapels that reeked of Glenlivet. To her surprise, he knew exactly what she was about, and he crushed his mouth against hers even as she looped her arms around his slender waist, yanking him toward her. His breath was ragged against her cheek as his hands came up and threaded through her hair. Golden pins tinkled musically against the pavement at their feet. 

“Now, Pen,” he growled. 

She laughed, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips traced a searing trail down her neck. This John Tracy was much more to her liking. So what if this side of him only appeared after two double scotches and a glass of champagne? The boy was nearly as pure as the driven snow, and every ounce hit him like a sledgehammer. He'd be feeling it tomorrow, but tonight... 

“You're not the first Tracy to step over this line,” she warned. “If that's a problem--”

He was shaking his head before she finished the sentence. “I couldn't give a fuck what Scott’s done in your bed,” he snapped. “Tonight, you're mine.”

Penny raised an eyebrow. Perhaps this was too much. John wasn't just a freight train, he was a bloody hurricane, an earthquake that she couldn't hope to stop. She was responsible for starting this, so she supposed that it was only fair to see it to its conclusion. 

“Very well then,” she purred, slipping her hand through his. “Follow me.”

They ended up at her London flat, stumbling and giggling up the steps, snatching kisses all the way. They nearly ended up staying at the front door, as her fingers couldn't aim the key with his tongue down her throat, but eventually she unlocked the door and slammed it behind them. 

They hadn't gotten farther than the middle of the living room before John took down her back zipper, right at the same moment her hands found the buttons on his shirt. His belt clattered against the boards along with her shoes, his shoes skittered away beside her handbag, and still his mouth sought hers like a drowning man seeking air. Penny's head spun from wine and lack of oxygen, but every nerve was on fire, and she gasped as John buried his face between her lace-adorned breasts. 

“Holy hell, Pen,” he muttered against her skin, nudging the fabric aside to tease her nipple with his tongue. “You're incredible.”

“You’re pretty damned amazing yourself,” she volleyed back, when she had enough breath to reply. “Not here, though.”

The flash of his grin was a beacon in the dark room. “Lead the way, milady.”

Penelope's room in the London house was just as plush as her room at the manor, but here the furnishings were merely antique rather than ancient. Just over the threshold, her skirt joined his pants on the floor, leaving him in boxers and her in brassiere, lace thong, and thigh highs. She backed John up until the backs of his knees hit the mattress, and with a yelp and a growl they fell onto the plush surface. 

Turquoise eyes smouldered up at her as Penny straddled John's hips. Cat-like, she lowered herself to crawl up his long, lean frame, her hair brushing his freckled chest. In answer, he reached up to pull her down to him, and rolled them over until he was above her. Her hands skimmed his flanks, tugging at his remaining article of clothing until he was finally free of it. Naked, he was shining and gorgeous, an alabaster statue with hands that left trails of fire on her skin as he undid the clasp between her breasts with a deft flick of his fingers. 

“John,” she breathed, as those same fingers pulled aside the scrap of lace and found her wet center. “Ah, John!”

He laughed deep in his chest, and lowered his head to lick his way down between her thighs. Penny could do nothing but grip handfuls of silk duvet and howl as her hips bucked against his scorching mouth. Nothing like Scott, indeed, the thought blurred against her brain, as John expertly brought her to the edge of insanity, then reared back and settled himself deep inside her. 

“Oh, shit,” he groaned. “Damn, Pen, you feel fucking awesome.”

Penny couldn't breathe, she needed to--oh, God, she needed--”Please, John, I--I’m going to p-pass out--”

In answer, he dipped his head to kiss her long and deep, and with the next roll of his hips, she was flying, streaking like a comet, burning into a heap of ashes. In seconds, he was moaning, grinding himself into her, throwing his head back with eyes tightly shut, mouth open and gasping. 

He was beautiful, she thought, feeling as if she was catching a falling star as he fell into her arms.


End file.
